That’s when the old fire lit in Maeve’s eyes. “You’d leave us,” she said, voice gone flat and cold. “You’d walk out, like a spoiled cat, and let them burn us to the ground?”
I shook my head, but the tears were already threatening, hot and stinging behind my eyes. “You don’t understand—”
She slammed her palm down on the table so hard the crockery jumped. “Make me understand! Explain how you wake up with your dead husband in the kitchen and decide to play house, like nothing’s broken!”
I didn’t know what to say. I looked at Sully, searching for a lifeline, but he just stood there, jaw tight, eyes shining.
“Is this what you want? To make a scene for the whole parish to gossip about?” Father Declan said.
Maeve rounded on him. “Don’t think I don’t see your hand in this, Father. If you’ve been dabbling—”
He held up a hand, sharp as a slap. “No one’s dabbling. Least of all me.” He turned to Sully and me. “You two are leaving. Good. You’re a liability, both of you. If you stay, the English will use your love as a noose for the whole village.”
That shut everyone up, even Maeve.
Declan sat, slow and careful, at the edge of the bench, then fixed his gaze on Maeve. “You want Catherine safe? Let her go. There’s nothing left for her here but suffering. The English want her. You want her. But she’ll die if she stays.”
Maeve swallowed, her anger curdling into something meaner. “So she just gets to walk away? Leave the rest of us to hang?”
Declan’s lips thinned. “No one gets to walk away, girl. Not in this war. But at least this way, she gets a chance.”
Sully finally spoke, his voice steady but so low I almost missed it. “It’s not about running. I just want to keep her alive.” He looked at me, and for the first time, I saw the terror in his face. “I can’t lose her again.”
The words punched all the air out of the room. Even Maeve had nothing to say. She just glared, but her shoulders slumped, and I knew she’d lost.
I moved to her, wrapped her in a hug before she could push me off. For a second, she just stood there, stiff as a tombstone, but then she shuddered and hugged back, her fingers biting into my spine.
“Don’t be stupid,” she whispered in my ear. “Don’t get killed for nothing.”
“I won’t,” I promised, even though I had no way to know.
Nora sidled up, pressed her face into my sleeve. “Will you send a letter?”
I smiled, shaky. “I’ll send you a whole book, if I can.”
We stood like that, a heap of dirty clothes and old hurts, until Sully cleared his throat. “We should go,” he said, eyes on the door.
Father Declan levered himself up, grimacing. “You’ll need a head start. The soldiers will be here before sunset.”
Maeve stepped back, wiped her nose with the heel of her hand, and glared at Sully one more time. “If you hurt her, even once, I’ll find a way to bring you back just so I can kill you again. Understand?”
He nodded. “Fair.”
I looked at them all—sisters, priest, and Sully—and for the first time, the choice felt like something I owned, not something pushed on me by death or war.
My hand found the leather ring on my finger, the knot pressing into my skin. I squeezed it, a lifeline braided out of hope and madness.
We’d barely cleared the edge of the yard when the light failed, the sky going from bruised gray to gunmetal in one long exhale. Sully led the way, his hand crushing mine so tight my knuckles popped. He never glanced back, not once, not even when the wind kicked up behind us and slammed the cottage door with a noise like the crack of a whip. We crossed the fields in silence, boots churning up mud and cow shit and what was left of last autumn’s dead grass.
By the time we reached the old barn, my lungs were burning, and I wanted to scream just to hear my own voice. The place hadn’t changed since we were kids—sagging roof, planks warped so bad you could see through to the night, every nail rusted to hell. It stank of hay and rot and horse piss, but when Sully shouldered open the door, I felt the world snap back into place. I remembered the first time, all those years ago, when he’d pushed me up against the stall door and dared me to take what I wanted. We’d been so young we didn’t even know how to touch each other right. Now we were old and haunted and desperate, but the feeling was the same.
Inside, the moonlight came in broken lines, striping the floor with bands of silver and black. Sully tossed our bag down and swept the hay into a rough pile. He didn’t say a word, just sat with his elbows on his knees and stared at the ground like it owed him an answer.
I shut the door behind us and leaned against it, watching him. “You okay?” I asked, stupid as it sounded.
He nodded, then shook his head. “Never better, Cat.”
I wanted to believe it. I wanted to be the kind of woman who knew what to say in these moments, but all I could do was walk over and sit beside him, shoulder to shoulder in the damp straw.
